


Voices in the Rain

by not_poignant



Series: The Fae Tales Verse - canon extras [5]
Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Original Work
Genre: Excessive Banter, M/M, Mild D/s, Mild Painplay, Public Sex, blowjob, laughing during sex, outdoors sex, post-The Court of Five Thrones, sightings of actual fluff, storms and rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, the tender, sweet nothings shared between Gwyn and Augus never quite look like those shared between other lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> As per the tags, this is set after _The Court of Five Thrones_ \- about five years after. Enjoy the installment of sweetness from two guys usually known for their ability to generate angst, lol. This is for Poigdom Week, for Day 6 (Candy and Kisses). I laterally interpreted the candy to just mean sweet things. Because I happen to think this is very sweet, lol.
> 
> Feedback is love! <3 (And thank you to all those who kudos / subscribe / bookmark / comment, and leave their love in other ways).

Gwyn watched him through an archway made of porous grey stone. Vines of deep green leaves hung, screening him. Gwyn thought that Augus would know what species the vine was, and what family it came from, and whether it could be used to heal or harm or both.

Augus sat cross-legged on sodden lawn, which was no longer a bright emerald green under the ominous cloud cover. He was saturated, long black mane plastered to his neck, clothing struggling to wick all the water away. His eyes were closed, lashes clumped, water trickling in rivulets down his face, looking like tears, collecting at the corners of his mouth, following the proud set of his nose. All of it gathering at some point underneath his neck and streaming onto his chest and lap.

It was hard to focus on his paperwork, with Augus sitting out there like that.

Gwyn cleaned the quill in water so that the ink wouldn’t dry and ruin it. He leaned back in a strong wooden chair he’d made himself and then looked over to his cabin – well…a house really. It put his old cabins to shame. A structure of quarried stone and felled wood, many barriers of magic surrounding the land around them. Charms to dispel hostile forces, to protect what was valuable within, to discourage archers, to keep the land hidden.

Augus didn’t often come with him to the cabin. Usually Gwyn split his time four ways – between the Unseelie palace, Augus’ home, this cabin, or any of his journeys out into the world for diplomacy or war or exploration. Augus needed enough time alone that his schedule didn’t always dovetail neatly with Gwyn’s.

The past two days however, Augus had made an exception, and Gwyn’s body still ached pleasantly. Not-so-pleasantly in some places. There was a nasty bite on his hip which hadn’t healed in over twelve hours, a level of bloodlust in Augus’ eyes as he’d delivered it that still rendered Gwyn breathless to think of it. Sometimes Augus looked at Gwyn like he wanted to devour him. The night before, his teeth had lengthened and Gwyn had spilled a not insignificant amount of blood on the sheets.

Gwyn liked it more than he should. Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have his own ways of getting revenge.

Augus’ abandoned cup of tea was cold now, the temperature around them frigid. He drank it lukewarm, the way he preferred his showers, his baths. If Augus was in a giving mood and they were sharing a bathroom, he’d make the water hotter for Gwyn’s comfort. But Gwyn was coming to see the merits of the lukewarm water, especially thanks to some of the events that happened while being surrounded by lukewarm water.

Augus breathed slowly and deeply out in the rain. Face tilted up just so. Even when the water fell harder, the drops fatter, he didn’t startle or twitch. There was a faint smile at the corners of his lips. A peace on his face that never found him while he was sleeping.

Gwyn stood and walked through the stone archway, blinking as the heavy drops of rain hit him. He could feel the force of it drumming on his head, his shoulders. In seconds, his hair was plastered to his scalp. In the distance, the rumbling of thunder. No flashes of lightning yet, but Gwyn knew the storm was getting closer; a slow, heavy behemoth.

The world smelled fresh and ancient all at once. Soil and loam stirred to releasing their scents, the rain imparting its clean newness to everything it touched.

He was saturated when he knelt behind Augus and touched his shoulder tentatively, to let Augus know he was there, before carefully sliding an arm around his chest. He was only slightly taller than Augus, but he was kneeling and Augus was sitting cross-legged, so Gwyn could tuck the top of Augus’ head under his chin.

Augus hummed, pleased. The sound muffled in the white noise of the rain. Gwyn felt it through his arm.

‘You’re so warm,’ Augus said.

‘Is it a problem?’

Augus shook his head. The coarse, drenched fibres of his mane and the rubbery waterweed tickled the underside of Gwyn’s chin.

Gwyn’s fingers wandered. It had taken him years to get to the point where this felt almost natural. Where he could trail his fingers over Augus’ lean chest, or the faint bumps of his ribcage, and not feel like he was breaking the rules. Nowadays – though he hadn’t told Augus about it – he could even be swept up in a desperate wave of possession that left him punch-drunk and almost giddy with it, the word _mine_ echoing in his head over and over again. The intensity of it was frightening, the same fear that left him trembling after a nightmare had ripped Augus away from him, the Nightingale yanking him down into the depths, or an arrow marked with a poison that no one could cure finding his heart, or the Raven Prince running him through with a rapier and seizing his life in a strike.

Not that Augus could die from something so simple, not anymore – but his dream self didn’t care much for being realistic. It only cared for the terror.

‘Shouldn’t you be working?’ Augus said. ‘I hear that’s all you do these days.’

‘Is it?’ Gwyn said, laughing. ‘There’s a mark on my hip that would beg to differ.’

‘Ah, well,’ Augus said, having to raise the volume of his voice to compete with the rain. Then he laughed.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘ _Now_ I’m thinking of how your blood felt spilling in my mouth. As hot as your spill, and just as piquant a taste, I think. Sweeter, though.’

Gwyn’s cheeks tingled and he stared off into the forest.

‘You’re so bloodthirsty,’ Gwyn said. ‘You’re not feeding enough.’

‘I think even if I took a human every day of every month,’ Augus said, turning his body towards Gwyn’s, shifting so that they were looking at each other, ‘I would still be just as hungry for yours. I dream of it, you know.’

Augus knelt before him, leaned until their chests were touching and Augus’ mouth was so close to Gwyn’s ear that Gwyn could feel the heat of his breath against sensitive curls of flesh.

‘Dream of eating you up. Crunching you down. Does it disturb you? That I want you to be so wholly mine that I would kill you in the process of it, but also possess you, and there would be nothing you could do but live in me, forever.’

Gwyn’s eyes closed. Because he couldn’t really say he’d thought of that too. Augus likely knew it anyway. Gwyn’s fantasies of consumption and consuming, all tied up in the brackish mess of his ruined appetite and his inability to ever feed his light properly.

‘There are other ways I could be in you,’ Gwyn said.

Augus laughed again, his fist knotted in Gwyn’s shirt.

‘Tremendously subtle,’ Augus said. ‘You know, there was a time when aristocrats of this very Court would go out of their way to flirt with me in such delicious, refined ways. And here you are, all brutish words and crassness.’

‘I don’t have to be subtle,’ Gwyn said, tackling the wet fabric at the bottom of Augus’ buttoned up shirt and scraping blunt fingers over cold flesh. Augus shivered, and Gwyn gazed at where his hands had half disappeared under deep green material.

‘Because you’re the King?’ Augus said, raising his eyebrows.

‘Because you’re easy,’ Gwyn said, and then laughed at his own daring. It had taken so long for him to understand that people could talk like this. That he could joke about something even if he didn’t feel like Augus was easy at all. Even if he felt like Augus was some rare gift and he still wasn’t certain he’d ever be able to do enough to deserve him.

But Augus was laughing again, in the fey, playful mood that came upon him sometimes when freshwater storms soaked the land.

Gwyn pushed Augus down onto his back, roughly enough that Augus’ breath fell out of his lungs. The fist at Gwyn’s chest became warning claws and Gwyn ignored them. He straddled Augus’ legs and looked down at him. At the bright gleam of his eyes and the way his waterweed blended with the grass, or how the freckles on the bridge of his nose were smaller than the ones on his cheeks, which were already small.

‘I wouldn’t want to fight back,’ Augus said, ‘with you being the King. Isn’t that treason?’

‘I’m certain that Unseelie fae being treasonous is somewhat par for the course.’

‘Written into the manual somewhere,’ Augus gasped, as Gwyn ripped his shirt open. ‘Honestly, Gwyn, _still?’_

‘I like it,’ Gwyn said.

He did, truthfully, just like the popping sound of all the buttons flying off. Even if the intensity of it was lost in the rain.

Augus arched up and with startling accuracy, punched the end of a knuckle into the bite mark at Gwyn’s hip. Gwyn cried out, eyes flying open, then bared his teeth at Augus’ narrowed eyes. He shoved Augus down to the ground again as pain radiated through his hip.

Getting Augus’ pants open was impossible, Gwyn grinding his teeth together as he tried to simply rip the fabric apart and Augus made a sound of alarm. Gwyn was being too careless, causing seams to cut into all kinds of sensitive places.

‘This is why I don’t like you in clothing,’ Gwyn said.

Augus was slapping his hands away – not light, affectionate slaps, but hard things that were just as impatient as the glare in his eyes. Gwyn ducked his head to kiss Augus’ mouth, and Augus bit sharply at his bottom lip. Not sharp enough to draw blood, but it was close enough.

‘You’re so unruly,’ Gwyn said, watching as Augus undid his own pants – even he was finding it difficult. ‘Everyone thinks you’re such a graceful creature, but you’re not at all.’

‘You bring out the best in me,’ Augus said, grinning toothily at him.

‘I’m no more brutish than you are.’

Augus laughed so hard he had to stop, he stared at Gwyn incredulously, and then he rolled his eyes and arched his hips and was still chuckling when he got his pants halfway down his thighs. Gwyn didn’t want to wait any longer – and Augus hadn’t taken his boots off. This would have to do.

‘You’re callow,’ Gwyn said, pinning Augus by the hip and nosing into wet, straight pubic hair. Augus smelled of fresh water on the surface, and beneath that a heavier savoury scent that clung to the back of Gwyn's throat, right where he wanted Augus' cock to rest.

‘I remember the days when we used to have these brilliant, incredible Kings and Queens,’ Augus mused dreamily, having to pitch his voice loud enough to be heard – not remotely breathless at having Gwyn so close to his cock. ‘You know the ones I mean. These magical beings of wonder. Now look at what we’ve got.’

‘You broke the chain before I did,’ Gwyn said, looking up.

Augus stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged and leaned back on his elbows.

‘Could be worse,’ Augus said, ‘Grip could be here. At least it’s only one dog that I’m dealing with.’

For that, Gwyn bit the jut of his hip, and Augus hissed and yanked a handful of Gwyn’s wet hair.

‘What’s the command?’ Augus said speculatively. ‘Down boy? Will that work?’

‘It will not,’ Gwyn said, looking down at Augus’ flaccid cock and thinking that all he really wanted to do was sink down, but now it was a matter of principle, and he _wouldn’t._

‘ _Down_ boy,’ Augus said imperiously, and Gwyn’s cheeks were burning despite the hammering of the rain. Augus’ fingers shoved at his head. Gwyn tried to ignore the shudder of heat, but it was useless. ‘Tch. It’s not working. What about if I said ‘Your Majesty’ instead of ‘boy?’’

‘Might help?’ Gwyn said.

‘Tch, what a shame. I don’t really see that happening either.’

Gwyn took Augus’ cock up in a grip that was tight enough that Augus jerked in on himself and grunted. Then Gwyn opened his mouth and took Augus all the way down to the back of his throat. Which was easy, because Augus was still soft enough that Gwyn shouldn’t have been as rough as he was.

But there were all different kinds of revenge, and this was one of them.

He sucked hard enough that Augus made another choked sound, and then cuffed the side of Gwyn’s head. The edge of Augus’ palm – not hard enough to hurt, but noticeable enough that Augus was trying to make a point.

_Why does he do this when his cock is in my mouth, though? Does he forget?_

Gwyn lifted his lips and scraped his teeth over sensitive flesh – a warning – and Augus went silent and still, and then the hand that had cuffed him returned and started petting the top of his head gently. Placating. Gwyn hummed, just as pleased as Augus had sounded when Gwyn had slid an arm around him before.

Here, the savoury taste of him was strong, the scent stronger. Gwyn sucked rhythmically, and hard enough that he’d get a reaction from Augus’ cock, even if Augus was curling above him and wanting things to be gentler. Enough time had passed since they’d first met, that Gwyn had a sense of how much pain Augus could handle before he’d call things off. As long as Gwyn didn’t formalise the scene with ropes and toys, Augus could handle a _lot_ of pain.

Gulvi had once casually called Augus a ‘painslut’ while Gwyn had been secretly confiding in her about their sex life – something Augus would _kill_ him for if he ever found out. Now, with Augus curled above him and gasping and his hands shaking upon Gwyn’s head – not stopping him – Gwyn knew there was truth to it.

Augus didn’t like being dominated – not really, he could tolerate it sometimes, but it didn’t sate some deep down creature inside of him like it did with Gwyn. But he adored the rough, painful ways Gwyn could wrest control from him. Sometimes he’d fight back with words until Gwyn stopped and Augus would look oddly disappointed, and Gwyn would wonder at whatever dynamic existed between them that Augus would look disappointed when Gwyn _listened_ to him.

Augus wasn’t trying to shove him away, but it was obvious he was finding it difficult – too sensitive, and Gwyn holding him in place and forcing his cock to harden, enjoying sucking him until he couldn’t taste anything except his own spit.

Augus’ cock was lengthening, plumping out. Gwyn’s nostrils flared as he sucked down breaths, and then felt the head hitting the back of his throat and swallowed the tip into tightness. Augus groaned above him, and then fingers dragged through Gwyn’s hair in that long, leisurely way that meant the balance between pleasure and pain had hit a good point for Augus.

This had become second nature for Gwyn. Taking Augus into his mouth and throat like this. There were times when Augus still wanted him to choke and suffocate. When Augus would push and pull at him, use so much force that even with all of Gwyn’s skill, he’d still feel panicked and stuffed and ruined _._ As it was, Gwyn wasn’t ever very gentle with himself. He liked the tightness of his throat around Augus’ lengthening cock – how his body never quite got used to it, fed him a maelstrom of sensation; the ache in his jaw, the friction on his tongue and the roof of his mouth, the stretch of his lips and the feeling of invasion that was perfect. Like he was being consumed, even though he was the one who had Augus in his mouth.

Augus began rolling his hips up, as much as Gwyn’s hands would allow. He was panting – Gwyn could feel Augus’ breath hot on the back of his head, even though he couldn’t hear it with the drumming of the rain. This seemed no different to some of the things they’d done in the shower, except that it was so cold, and the ground was soft, not tiled with stone or ceramics.

It became clear after about five minutes – Gwyn’s mouth and throat getting sore from moving up and down and sucking so often – that Augus was deliberately holding back. Gwyn couldn’t even taste precome. He pulled off and looked up at Augus, who was smirking down at him.

‘Augus…’

‘Mm?’ Augus said.

‘Last time you did this I couldn’t feel my tongue for hours.’

‘Did what?’ Augus said, raising his eyebrows. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘ _Augus…’_

‘Maybe you’re just having an off day,’ Augus said, petting the top of Gwyn’s head with faux tenderness. ‘It happens to the best of us.’

‘In that case, I’ll leave you in better hands,’ Gwyn said, pulling away. ‘Which would be your own.’

He pushed upright, got about two steps away before waterweed latched around his ankles and toppled him. Gwyn had been expecting it, caught the fall on his hands and knees. He grunted at the pain that lanced through his bad shoulder, and then Augus was dragging him back and manhandling him into position, forcing Gwyn’s face against his cock. The heat of him bumping against Gwyn’s cold cheek.

‘I’ll use teeth,’ Gwyn warned.

‘No you won’t,’ Augus said, ‘or I’ll find that toy that you hate and shove it so far inside you that we _lose it.’_

Gwyn made a choking sound and then buried his face into Augus’ pelvis as his shoulders started to shake.

‘Are you _laughing?’_ Augus said.

Gwyn shook his head while laughing.

Eventually though, with Augus’ cock by his face and hands that were smoothing over his shoulders – too kind for it to be an accident – Gwyn decided that he didn’t care if he spent hours with Augus’ cock down his throat. As frustrating as it could be, that was just one of the consequences of sleeping with someone who could choose to hold off when he came, and sometimes did.

Gwyn opened his mouth, sunk down upon Augus’ cock again, shifting his body so that he could take Augus deep. Then he closed his eyes and lost himself in it. Augus could meditate cross-legged under heavy rain. Gwyn had…other ways of clearing his mind.

Despite the shift in atmosphere, the way Augus was stroking his neck carefully, or tracing his thumb around the place where Gwyn’s lips stretched around him, Augus still held back. Gwyn didn’t count the minutes, but he knew from the sharpening aches in his jaw and mouth that Augus was pushing his own pleasure back through force of will. The thunder was getting closer now, Gwyn could feel it in the ground, in the air.

Between the rain and Augus, Gwyn forgot about everything else.

Gwyn was moaning weakly on every exhale when Augus finally started to rock forcefully into his mouth. His throat felt raw, his mouth tingled, his own cock so hard between his legs that he wished he’d at least undid the fly of his pants.

Something he always thought when it was too late for him to have the coordination to do anything about it.

Augus’ hands stopped stroking him and instead just held him close, his hips moving in short, sharp movements. Gwyn’s eyes were watering – had been for some time now – his nostrils flared to catch bits of breath amongst the rain that tried to trickle into his nose. Then he felt the vibrations underneath Augus’ skin, the ripples of movement that complemented the sudden, loud moan that Augus made.

He held still, shaking, and Gwyn shook with him from the intensity of it. He felt like Augus’ orgasm was rolling through him, his back muscles knotting tight. He swallowed as fast as he could, throat filling with heat, stinging him. Then a flash of heat rushed through Gwyn’s flesh, his cock throbbed hard, he was coming in his own pants in waves that threatened to undo his control over his body, over the position his was holding. He groaned repeatedly around Augus’ cock, squeezed his eyes shut, trembled and couldn’t make himself stop.

Another minute, another, and then Augus was softening in his mouth and Gwyn was awkwardly pushing himself up. Augus’ hands were there helping him, always far more steady than Gwyn’s own limbs. Augus’ pants were somehow already back up around his hips. Gwyn had no idea how much time he lost during and after orgasm, but it was enough that he tended to miss these things.

‘Fuck,’ Gwyn said with a mouth that felt so used that he pressed his fingers to his lips.

‘Mm,’ Augus said. ‘Maybe later.’

Augus dragged Gwyn until his top half was resting in Augus’ lap, his forehead on Augus’ thigh. He could feel his own come sticky between his legs. Caught in the rain-soaked tightness of fabric.

‘Far more brutish than I’ve _ever_ been,’ Gwyn said, shaping the words clumsily with a sore tongue and throat.

‘You’ve fucked me when there were dead bodies within arm’s length.’

‘So have you!’ Gwyn exclaimed.

‘No,’ Augus said succinctly. ‘I fucked you while there were bodies _nearby.’_

Gwyn squinted and thought it over. Thought back to that moment – years ago now – in the Seelie Court, and the one where Augus had tricked Gwyn out of his armour and then ruined him where any of Gwyn’s soldiers could have seen him.

Augus wasn’t exactly wrong.

‘You’ve drawn more blood than I have,’ Gwyn said, yawning and then curving his arm around Augus’ leg and hugging it to himself.

‘True,’ Augus said. ‘But you ruin me whenever you get that battering ram of yours into my ass.’

‘ _Good,’_ Gwyn said.

‘So you’re more brutish than I am.’

‘I… You’ll have to forgive me if I feel that’s not entirely true in _this_ moment.’

‘You didn’t put a paperweight on your parchments, did you?’

‘What?’ Gwyn said.

‘It’s…nothing.’

Gwyn pushed himself up and stared at the clearing around them as though seeing it for the very first time. Scattered in all directions – ripped and ink staining the pages – his parchments. Clinging to tree trunks, the grass, crumpled over shrubs.

‘Oh… _fuck_ ,’ Gwyn said, staring at it all. He thought about getting up and running after everything. But it was too late now. The ink had already run.

‘I said ‘maybe later’,’ Augus said. ‘Be patient.’

‘That was an important treaty,’ Gwyn said, collapsing back into Augus’ lap and groaning. ‘Very important.’

‘Alas,’ Augus said, not remotely sympathetic.

‘And my throat hurts,’ Gwyn said, poking Augus’ leg.

‘Woe,’ Augus added.

‘Remind me why you’re here again?’ Gwyn said.

‘Because I use you the way you like to be used,’ Augus purred, rubbing Gwyn’s back. ‘Isn’t that so, sweetness?’

‘Mm,’ Gwyn rumbled, smiling into Augus’ thigh. That was true enough.

It occurred to him that Augus was sitting cross-legged once more, underneath the rain. The only difference now was that Gwyn was there with him, enjoying the storm – which was what he’d wanted all along.


End file.
